


Idle Kings

by Girl_chama



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Post-Here Lies the Abyss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:53:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4076854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Girl_chama/pseuds/Girl_chama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after Corypheus is defeated an unannounced Neria Surana appears in Skyhold with few questions, fewer answers, and one monumental request.  The war-weary Inquisition and its beleaguered Inquisitor must decide where to draw the line between honor and foolishness, between hope and despair, and whether or not one man's life is worth the risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idle Kings

When she wakes, Cullen has already set out to attend to training and drills for the soldiers. She browses through yesterday’s missives and the schedule for today.  A couple from Denerim has arrived to plead about trade agreements, which is more Anora’s jurisdiction than hers.  Still, referring them back to Denerim will be more agreeable than chasing down and fighting Venatori, Freemen of the Dales, Darkspawn... Any of the other myriad horrors she's seen.

 

She finishes an easy breakfast and descends the stairs to the Grand Hall. Several people are milling and swaying over the fine granite floor.  They have brought their dancing and gaming with them as they wait on her attention.  They'll have to keep waiting, presently.  She doesn't meet with anyone in official capacity until Josephine has given her the lay of the land.

 

Her ambassador is already waiting, sipping coffee as she enters her office.  It's almost warm today, and only a small fire burns in the fire place.

 

"Is that the last of the dry rot?" Regina asks as she crosses the threshold.

 

"Good morning," Josephine counters, never a chastisement but always a reminder, and Regina smiles.  "Indeed it is. Not a moment too soon, either, for if it must smoke I shall greatly enjoy the oncoming aroma of pipe tobacco and incense rather than musty, stale dungeon."

 

Regina laughs, pleased, and diverts herself toward Josephine's desk, "I'm under the impression that Fusilier and the Fereldan couple are our pressing cases today.  Should I know anything beyond the particulars?"

 

Josephine recounts Fusilier’s plea while Regina listens. These are half her days now, acting as the knife that cuts through confusion and emotion to resolution.  She wields the arcane in her left hand and belief in her right, and every twist of her fingers is made with delicacy and care.  She will not become a tyrant nor a dictator. It will not be the Inquisition's legacy.  It will not be _her_ legacy.

 

"That should be sufficient.  I'll be in the war room."

 

"Of course, Inquisitor.  I'll send in Janelle to wait on you should you need anything."

 

"You're too kind, Josie.  Please don't go to any trouble," she calls as she ascends the stairs. But Josie will, and Regina will graciously accept the service because it's who they are and because people are watching.

 

The war room is dim when she enters, the door creaking heavily beneath her hand. Sunlight has yet to fill the space, and the fires are all out.  It is rarely used as much as the executives' personal offices these days, but Regina likes the memory of power and confidence the table absorbed during their ascent to power.  So many life-changing decisions made here, and their heady desperation lingers, like veil fire runes and dust in castle corners.

 

She does not know if it is her memory tasting old fear, the rush of confidence from old success, or if it's something the Well passed on to her, this understanding and devotion to the space. Either way, the feeling lingers.  It's another question she would ask Solas, had he remained.

 

She strides toward the far window, behind Leliana’s customary perch, and is about to open it, warm day that it is when-

 

"Careful.  That one sticks."

 

Her heart leaps against her ribs and she spins, already summoning protection at her fingers, and the Anchor spits and crackles within the cleft of her palm. There is a woman standing in the opposite corner, petite and pale.  Blue eyes glance down to the flaring mark and then back to Regina’s face, while her own heart refuses to calm.

 

"Who are you?" she demands curtly.  "How did you get in here?"  It's a private area and no guests are permitted without escort.  Josephine will not have allowed someone entrance and then not told her.

 

"My name is Neria Surana,” she answers without hesitation. “I scaled the mountain and then sneaked into your castle.” The answer is plain, no theatrics or flourish, and Regina knows the delivery is because the words are impressive enough. Her shoulders sag slightly as her alarm fades, eyes widening.

 

The Hero of Ferelden.  In Skyhold.  

 

Maker, Cassandra's brain is likely to explode. Though Regina won’t see it because Divine Victoire is four months removed, now safely ensconced in Val Royeaux.

 

"Well, then," Regina offers. She lowers her hand and tries to calm her speeding heartbeat.  The mark dims into a play of shadows.  "What do you want?"

 

Surana stares at her, less patient than Regina originally considered, and it's her turn to falter at the question.  The tells are small, a shift of her feet, the flicker of her eyes, but Regina's got good instincts and she has only been honing them since she touched the Anchor.

 

"How do you know I _want_ anything? Maybe I came to see the famous Inquisition with my own eyes."

 

Dissemblance to be sure, and Regina chuckles, before she leans against the table, "Of course.  Stealing in here like a thief in the night.  No warning, no announcement.  You _could_ have stolen something for all I know.  Maker knows we have plenty of treasures."

 

This slight ruffles the shorter woman, but she only says, "I assure you that I did not-"

 

"No one of your station comes to the Inquisition unless they want something.  Only the widows and orphans give all and only because even _I_ don’t have the power to turn _them_ away."  She straightens and crosses her arms over her chest.  "So try again, Warden Commander, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Hero of Ferelden."

 

She expects the twitching woman to cave, or perhaps fly into a lather.  Leliana once intimated great wisdom about her, but absence of her other virtues were telling in and of themselves.

 

Instead Surana smiles.  It's a pitiful thing, the barest corner of each mouth struggling upright and failing just as quickly.

 

"I can see why he followed you," she explains.

 

For a second Regina's ignorance is her confusion, but Surana only has to hold her gaze for a moment.  Then the memory returns.  

 

_Spider legs like tree stalks and fear as thick as a miasma._

 

_ “Right. Good luck. I’ll keep it off you.” The battle cry that follows resounds in her ears, as pointless as crying. _

 

Within her well of memories this one pierces more deeply than others, and she knows it shows on her face.  Disappointment and failings she has made her peace with, but the sight of the elven woman stirs up guilt in her, and more than a little resentment for having had to make the decision.

 

"Alistair," she remembers.

 

Neria does not move, but answers, "He's why I'm here Inquisitor."

 

"Revenge won't bring him back," she offers calmly.  Sadness underscores, "It won't bring you anything."

 

"You misunderstand me.  I do not want to harm you nor any of your people."  She stands up from the wall and her drooping hood falls back. Shoulder length black hair caps her shoulders in a rough cut that somehow makes her face look even more angular than the hood.  But it is her eyes that hold her audience. She is striking, and young, maybe no older than Regina, herself, and there is a strange sort of compulsion to pay attention, to regard her.

 

"Then what do you want?"  she demands only a moment later.

 

"Your help.  Alistair is alive, and I want to bring him home."


End file.
